


A Call to Arms Again

by emilou22



Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Angst, Book 12: Nightshade (Alex Rider), Gen, Parent Yassen Gregorovich, Yassen Gregorovich Lives, more like an au, spoilers?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:16:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilou22/pseuds/emilou22
Summary: Yassen survived being shot. He managed to get away. Scorpia thinks he’s dead. Everyone does. Living out in the Bahamas, this could be heaven. But the world isn’t that kind. It’s time to go back. For Alex. For John.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	1. Paradise

Rolling waves, white sand, an island hideaway not tainted by the sprawling towns... some people would call that paradise. So much so, the all inclusive hotel had named itself that. ‘Club Paradise’. Nestled away in one of the smaller islands in the Bahamas, it was a true slice of heaven. If it wasn’t for the continual, but mild, pain in his chest, Yassen would have thought that was this was. Heaven. Where the drinks come freely, and no need to watch over your shoulder. A sanctuary for a presumed dead man who was keeping a low profile.

It was truly miraculous Yassen was alive. Not many walk away from a bullet to the chest at point blank range. However, something that Yassen had not taken into account, was Damian Cray’s aim. Or lack there of, it seemed. The bullet cracked Yassen’s sternum and had caused severe blood loss, but none of his major organs had been hit. Not even from any shrapnel, bone or otherwise. He was lucky that the paramedics found him before he bled out to death. They found him, resting against the wall of the airplane, covered in his own blood and barely breathing. They were surprised he was still alive. It took him a good few days, and an extensive blood transfusion, before he finally woke up again. The bullet was gone, but it still hurt. He was left with another nasty scar and a dull ache that still hung around to this day.

Maybe he had died that day. Or even when he was in hospital. Tried to resuscitate him but it didn’t work. Maybe this was heaven? It should be. Yassen was sitting in the sand, watching the waves roll in and out in a half fixated trance. He’d been sitting out here since lunch, just watching the sea and the tidal patterns. The occasional member of staff came down to check in on him, refill his drink, or do anything he asked. Though Yassen was reluctant to do so. Every now and then he did get up, walking out far enough for the water to wash up to his ankles. Nobody knew he was here. Hell, Scorpia thought he was dead. Everyone thought he was dead. For once, finally, he was safe. He felt safe. After all, he was too old to be running around as a gun for hire. _You’re thirty five for Christ sake, you’re not that old._ No. But too old for that line of work. Too old to go back now. Not that he wanted to. There was nothing that could drag him back to that.

But there was someone.

Yassen felt a shiver run through him as the sun had dipped below the horizon line. He pushed up from the sand, fruitlessly brushing off some of the granules that clung to his clothes.They had already made a home in some of the creases and folds. It would take an age to finally get rid of every single one. Slowly, he trudged back up towards the villa he had been renting. It was a modern home, but heavily inspired by Mediterranean architecture. White walls and terracotta tiles with arched doorways. Newly painted shutters covered the windows. Hand painted tiles positioned purposefully to decorate the blank walls. The Caribbean heat had fortunately found its way inside. It was surprisingly cool in the villa. The linen curtains fluttered from the cool breeze in the open door way. Yassen slipped inside, barely brushing past the fabric. Hot sand was now replace by cold marble tiles under his feet. He listened for a moment, waiting in the silence. Waiting for… waiting for what exactly? Nothing. No sound. No noise. There was no one else there. Of course there was no one there. Paranoia. That’s all it was. _But it keeps you alive._ Yassen walked further into the villa, flicking on the lights. The dim chandelier flickered and turned on, bathing the room in a soft, warm light. They had taken a minimalist approach when decorating the villas. A white couch and arm chair were in the middle of the room with a glass coffee table. There was a television bracketed to the wall, but a layer of dust on the screen showed it hadn’t been used. A breakfast bar split the room to create a kitchen area, with some granite work surface and a small oven. Above that were a few cupboards holding the bare essentials of glasses, crockery, and a couple of pots to cook with. It was enough. Enough if you considered that most meals were provided for. All expenses paid for when renting the house. Yassen went to the kitchen, grabbing a clean glass from a cupboard. He filled it with water from the mini fridge before resting against the breakfast bar. His tablet was on the side. He turned it on and flicked through some of the notifications. News broadcasts. Intercepted emails. Nothing of interest.

‘Have you heard of Nightshade?’

Yassen read the notification again. A small frown began to form, brow furrowing together. Nightshade. There was something… familiar. But not enough for the alarms to start sounding. Yet. He swiped open the notification to read on. It was part of an email thread. He read on. Nightshade. New organisation. Bunch of terrorists. Typical to get on the radar of global security services. Deaths connected to them. Assassinations really. Most looking like accidents. Poison. Rogue remote controlled toy takes out a man in Brazil (that part makes Yassen chuckle). But the end of this thread made the faint smile drop from Yassen’s face. Five words. Five words and a bit of punctuation.

‘Child soldiers. Send in AR?’

_Oh no_. Wait. AR could mean a lot of things. Yassen put down the tablet and headed to his bedroom. It’s been at least a year, they still wouldn’t be using him like that. He opened his wardrobe and grabbed his rucksack from inside. It could be someone else, someone with the exact same initials. The rucksack was already packed, had been since he got here. _Occam’s razor. Simplest solution._ Yassen was already moving back through the villa. Simplest solution was it was John’s son. Alex. _You’re getting ahead of yourself._ Yassen picked up the phone to call the front desk of resort. For a moment he stood there, phone in hand, motionless. _I’m getting ahead of myself._

But even if he was…

Yassen called the front desk. Said he was leaving, quite quickly, and wouldn’t be needing the villa again any time soon, have a lovely night, thanks all the same. The phone went back on the receiver before he packed up the last of his belongings.

Even if it wasn’t Alex, it would be better to make sure. And if it was…

Yassen hadn’t thought that far ahead. Instead, he pushed that thought away, slinging his rucksack onto his shoulders as he left the villa. From the intercepted emails, whoever they were sending in was going to Gibraltar. A prison of some kind. _Odd place to drop in a fifteen year old_. Maybe it wasn’t Alex then. Yassen stopped walking, rooted again to the spot in thought. _Make up your fucking mind!_ He was going. Sod a quiet life then. Though, a quiet life never had suited him, regardless of how much he craved one. It’s just to check it’s not John’s son. And then what? If it isn’t he’d go back to (trying to) live a quiet life off some Caribbean island somewhere. Nightshade was not his fight. It never has been. The world can hold on for him just a bit more.

But if it is… . Alex was the only thing left he had as a connection to John. It wasn’t something he wanted to lose just yet. Nightshade wasn’t the objective here. Yassen could tell himself it was to make it better, but he knew deep down that it really wasn’t. Recognisance work, that’s it. Again, he could tell himself that. _You just want him to be safe._ He was a child, of course he’d want him safe! _You’re getting attached_. Perhaps. No… maybe.

Just a maybe.

Yassen pushed on, heading out of the resort and towards one of the main roads. It was a touristy area, so traffic flowed through easily. Taxis, buses, cars, bikes. Vehicles of every kind. He stuck out hand to stop an oncoming taxi, watching it grind to a stop beside him.

“Nearest airport, please,” he told the driver as he slipped inside. “As quick as you can.” Within twenty minutes he had arrived at the international airport. And within a couple of hours, he was off to Europe.


	2. Breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yassen arrives in Gibraltar, but gets a bit of a nasty shock.

Welcome to the Spanish airspace. Or was it English? Gibraltar was one of those areas Yassen wasn’t too sure of. Perhaps it was because of its messy history, and even messier politics, it was best left not to think about it. His flight had taken around ten hours. By his calculations he was running at least a day behind any major decisions the British secret service would have made. But even still, a small delay was better than learning an uncomfortable truth or preventable incident weeks later. And he wasn’t prepared for that. He hadn’t landed in Gibraltar; that was nigh on impossible from the small airport he had been driven to in the Bahamas. The closest airport he could fly into was Málaga. Still ninety minutes out of Gibraltar, but it was better than nothing. The plane had touched down. The afternoon sun bounced around on the tarmac. Even from just looking out the small port-hole window, Yassen could tell it was going to be hot. Heat rays shimmered and distorted his view of the airport. He waited in his seat until the rest of the passengers left, before exiting the plane.

As suspected, the heat hit him hard. Having gone from an air conditioned plane to a dry, hot day, it was quite the shock. Almost immediately, he could feel beads of sweat starting to form. Yassen slipped on a pair of sunglasses to stop his eyes from burning. Fortunately, the walk to the arrivals lounge was short, and the building was cool. For some reason, there was only two arrival desks open, especially when two airbuses had touched down at a similar time. The queue was starting to build already.Two bored looking attendants sat behind the desks, taking their time to check visas and passports. Yassen had forgotten how bad it could be to get into a country legally. Gone are the days of private planes and jumping borders. Now you have to wait in line like everyone else…

“Passport please, sir.” The attendant’s voice cut through. Even in Spanish it sounded still just as bored, and just as tired as she looked. Yassen pushed over his passport. It wasn’t his real one, that hadn’t been used in a long time. Instead, it was a forged one, compliments of his days with Scorpia. A French one. Instead of his name, it read Ruben Germain. Other than that, the information on this passport was identical to his own. Easier to remember. The attendant looked over the passport before handing it back to Yassen. “Purpose of this trip?” She asked.

“Holiday.”

“Do you have anything to declare?”

“No. I don’t.” A lie, of course, but this was always easier than the truth. And it wasn’t like he carried around permits anyway.

Eventually, she gave him a satisfied nod. “Welcome to Málaga, enjoy your stay.”

Yassen thanked her before walking past.

———

Tracking down a top secret, highly guarded, maximum security prison was easier said than done. They’re not exactly something that is put onto the local maps. Nothing was ever simple. Although, Yassen could extrapolate some details. It has to be far away from any towns or cities. It has to be a large enough area for it to be housed. And it has to be somewhere that could be secured easily. Prison breaks were messy at the best of times, so keeping them as reclusive as possible made them easier to handle. So, a reclusive spot, miles away from civilisation, while being a big enough area to keep fences, guards, housing for prisoners, and all other necessary amenities, narrowed it down to a few areas in Gibraltar’s countryside.

But he found it. It took him an hour or so, half that time pouring over a map, but he found it nonetheless. _It would have been quicker if you hadn’t rushed into this…_ He buried that thought down as he sat, a couple of miles away from the entrance, watching for any movement. Although he wasn’t camouflaged per say, the dark colours of hist T-shirt and cargo trousers he was wearing blended into the shadows quite well. If they weren’t looking for him they probably wouldn’t have seen him. Binoculars in hand, he kept an eye out for… what exactly was he waiting for? Confirmation that they hadn’t, in fact, sent Alex? Hard to do when you’re just watching the entrance… _You would have known what you were doing if you hadn’t rushed into this._ Again he swallowed that thought down. Yassen got up, deciding that climbing one of the trees would give him a better vantage point. He slipped the binoculars around his neck before scaling a tree with ease. He tried to push any thoughts and feelings of familiarity away as he focused on which branch would support his weight. Thoughts of when he last had to do something like this. He was with Hunter. John.

_Stop that._

He shook his head and climbed up higher. The branches were starting to thin out. Even just using them for support was causing them to snap in his hand. This was high enough then. Yassen glanced down at the ground. He was, at least, sixty feet up. Breaking a bone was likely from this height. Better to not think about that. He looked back up, adjusting his position so he could sit (well, half sit, half perch) viewing the prison. It was a better view. He could now look into the main courtyard. There were a couple of prisoners wandering around. Some of the guards were keeping a close eye on them. But none of them looked like Alex. Hell, none of them looked young enough to be Alex. _This was a waste of time!_ It wasn’t him. Yassen sighed and slowly began to work his way down the tree. The sound of a nearby engine stopped him in his tracks. Yassen looked around. In the middle distance, an armoured truck was making its way up the path towards the compound. He frowned and grabbed his binoculars again, looking through to watch the truck. Transport type. Guards in the front, God knows who or what was in the back. Yassen shifted back to better position in the tree. The truck made its way to the gate. It pulled slowly into the compound and came to a stop by the main building. The guards left the truck and moved around to the back of the vehicle. They opened the doors. Yassen watched as a young man stepped out. Average height, with light brown hair. Slim, but still looked like they were in good physical shape. Yassen looked at the new prisoner through his binoculars.

Alex.

It was Alex.

There was no denying it.

Yassen lost his footing in the tree and slipped. He let out a short cry in surprise as he fell. Luckily he managed to grab onto one of the thicker branches. Yassen dangled there, breathing heavily, looking down at the ground. That was twenty, twenty-five feet? Lucky to have caught himself… Yassen pulled himself up so he was secure again. They were still using him then… _Bastards_. He was a fifteen year old kid for God’s sake.

So it was him. _Now what?_ Yassen couldn’t exactly waltz on in, grab Alex and leave. Well, he could, but the guards would put an end to that quicker than a bolt of lightning. But that’s all he wanted to do, just put an end to all this. Yassen scaled down the tree, making sure not to fall the rest of the way. He landed at the bottom. You still haven’t decided what you’re going to do about it.

Yassen looked up and down the road.

The truck was coming back down, he could hear its engine far off. Or at least, a vehicle was coming. Take the guard out. Yassen slung his rucksack off his shoulder, looking through it. His hand wrapped around his hand gun buried at the bottom. He pulled it out and checked its magazine. Then, after another search, he attached a silencer. The engine was getting closer. Yassen stood up, looking up the road. In the haze of the heat, he saw it coming. It was half a mile off. Yassen stepped out into the middle of the road. He took in a deep breath as he watched it come closer, slowing down. He raised his hand, levelling the gun at his eyeline.

The guards didn’t know what happened. It was too quick.

Yassen shot both of them, square in the forehead, before standing to one side. The truck spun out of control, then crashed into a nearby tree a few feet away. Smoke began to plume from the crumpled up engine. Someone will see that. He had to move quick. Yassen made his way to the front of the truck and yanked open the door. The driver was pinned to his seat, steering wheel holding him captive. The other guard was just as trapped, laying face down in the airbag. Not ideal. He took ahold of the guard in front of him and pulled. The man was stuck. Yassen placed his foot on the truck for more leverage. Slowly, it began to give. The guard fell out onto the ground. Yassen took another look around before he stripped the guard of his uniform. He couldn’t leave the bodies here however… not with the pair having two bullet holes in their skulls. The truck was beyond being in a drivable position too. He’d just have to leave the truck. But he needed to dump the bodies, and quickly.

The road, fortunately for him, lay not that far from a cliff side. Yassen picked up the first guard, hauling him onto his shoulder, and trudged over. He looked over the cliff’s edge. The blue sea met the rock. Waves lapped up the face of the cliff. In one swift movement, Yassen tossed the deceased guard over the cliff. He watched the body spin and tumble, before crashing into the waves below. Onto the next. The other body was still trapped in the vehicle. This one was easier to prise out. He yanked it out of the truck and carried it over to the edge. Just like the first, he threw it into the water below. He watched the two bodies get dragged along by the current. It will take a couple of days for them to wash up on shore. By then, this should be over. Yassen backed away from the cliff, heading back over to pick up the guard’s uniform. He looked it over. It would run a little small, especially across the chest, and the trouser legs might cut off at an awkward length. But it could work, just as long as nobody looked too close at him.

So that was his plan. Pretend to be a guard, find Alex, get him out. And then… He’d think on that once he’d actually completed the first part. What he had planned was always going to be easier said than done. Nothing was a simple as it was planned. But he knew what he was doing. And that was a start. Tomorrow he’d find Alex.

— — —

As suspected, the uniform was tight. Not unbearable, but it could be noticeable that it wasn’t his size. Yassen looked over the guard’s ID. The guard had similar features to Yassen. Same blond hair, and similar eye shape. Although, the guard had grey eyes compared to Yassen’s blue. He also had a rounder face. But if they were looking too hard, and if he wore sunglasses, they might not tell the difference. Yassen wished the truck hadn’t been totalled yesterday. He then would have had something to use to get in. _Stealing a car would draw attention._ What other option would he have? Yassen looked out the window of his hotel room. There on the pavement, unattended, was a Honda CMX500A Rebel. The black bike was parked up, helmet hanging by the handlebars. It was just asking for him to use it. Begging for him to take it. _If it’s still there when you leave then fine._ That was his reasoning. He took one last look at the ID, committing the name to memory. He hoped the man was British. If he wasn’t, well, Yassen may have to start shooting earlier than he’d like… he went through his final checks, before taking in a deep breath.

The bike was still there. Part of Yassen was happy to see it. He slowly walked over to it, taking a quick glance over his shoulder before straddling it. No one was yelling at him just yet. He looked down at the ignition. Looked simple enough. From his pockets, he pulled out a couple of picks. He began to fiddle with the ignition. After a minute, the bike came to life under him. A small smile broke on his face. He reached for the helmet and slipped it on, adjusting it where necessary. Still no one yelling. With one final look around, Yassen pushed off, driving away from the hotel, through the cobblestone streets of the small holiday town and towards the sea. The roads eased out into tarmac. The bike itself was easy to handle. A beautiful machine. It climbed up the winding cliff side roads with such an ease and grace to it. The sun was just starting to rise, so he chased the sunrise up the mountain. It didn’t take him long to reach the prison. Someone must have found the truck, as it had vanished from the roadside. However, the cracked tree was still there. Yassen reached the main gate. A guard was inside a booth by the gate. He looked tense. On edge. Perhaps word of the truck had spread up here…

“Can I have some ID please,” he said. His voice stern. Yassen handed over the piece of plastic. The guard looked it over. “Can you take your helmet off, sir. I need to see your face.” Yassen obliged. The guard inspected the ID again, now comparing it to Yassen. He was frowning. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Is this necessary?” Yassen asked looking over.

“Just answer the question.”

“Alright. Jordan Fischer, happy now?”

The guard looked at Yassen and back at the ID. “Just give me a minute, please.”

_Дерьмо._ Yassen wrapped his fingers around the handlebars tighter. He watched as the guard went to the telephone and rang for someone. Thinking quickly, Yassen scrambled for something to say. “Look, I don’t have time for this. My shift starts soon,” he called out to him. “Please. I don’t wanna be late, I really can’t have that mark on my record. Just do me a solid, okay?”

The guard looked over at Yassen. Slowly he put the receiver down. “Alright.” He handed the ID over to Yassen. “I should call this in, you know.”

“I know, but you’re doing me a favour, thank you.” He gave him a smile and slipped the ID back into his pocket. The guard opened up the gates. Yassen went through.


End file.
